Children of the Woods
by Insomniac Dormouse
Summary: A bewitching group of oneshots telling of the creation of a beautiful land and an even more beautiful family, as 3 earthbound angels grow as people, while gathering mortals to spend eternity with in their sacred land.
1. Prologue

Hundreds of corpses were sprinkled along the plains. One cadaver in particular, stood out among the rest. At the terrains edge lay, the body of a dark skinned man with bloody limbs and chequered teeth, he was covered in twisted roots and brambles than held him in place like a puppet's strings. Many branches had dug under skin; under wounds and cuts, and wormed their way around bones, ripping through muscles. Clumps of intertwined gorse sprung out of his face, through black-red windows that may have one held eyes, but now only held space for frozen agony and shadows. Both husks continued to consume and conceal each other forming an image of nightmares.

A woman with glorious, gold feathered wings sat back against a heap of bodies, that had been carelessly tossed together, watching the wood grow further, as it widened, tearing apart and ravaging the body of the man that had once called himself a king — she mentally scoffed at the idea of him being any form of leader. Her bored, unblinking expression bore into the gory image of the protruding plant snapping the man's neck, cracking and crumbling his blackened ribcage.

The angel moved about her hand in concentration, further contorting and recreating the unholy amalgamation impassively.

Over time what were once the man's feature, and parts had been pulled into a large, hollow tree. The black-brown dry wood bore sagging gaps through the plant's front, seemingly serving as eyes and a mouth: the mouth serving as an entrance.

The woman responsible for corpse tree's state walked in through the almost-orifice, taking in her work; Seeming pleased with herself, she placed her hand on the back wall, inside the confines of the tree, and stretched out her fingers with an almost vindictive expression.

The Blackwood stretched outward, forming a slowly growing hole, that brought forth an all encompassing creek which could have been mistaken for a pained screech.

The colossal mass' form quivered as the woman continued to pull apart the flesh-bark until she formed a second entrance — larger and more welcoming that the one that sat opposite to it — with a neat ebony outline, that screened silent pleas.

Pleased, she waltzed back out the front of the tree, and passing through a few miles of carnage and rubble, she stopped in front of the ruins of a temple.

 _Ruins_. That word having any place in this land was a retched thought. She'd never understand how mortals could so easily desecrate such a holy place, how they could allow, cause, such a butchery of their own kind. Then again, she couldn't understand how the Gods allowed it either, though she wouldn't dare question them. How could they allow this to happen to their temple, their land, _their acolytes_?

She and her two acquaintances had been sent here to bestow retribution. To give deliverance after, those filthy sinners had murdered the clan that had been guarding this land.

It made her sick that any of it had happened, she only found peace in the fact that they had now found peace.

Now that the job was done the only issue she had was that they had to stay here, to become the land's new guardians. It felt like a punishment, being left down here, but there was nothing she could do about it except make it more comfortable.

She spent some more time reforming the ruins, building herself a quaint little settlement from the marble and stone. She formed a little garden of bright colourful flowers in front of it.

She then opted to create a barrier around the area, not one that prevent mortals from entering (she could simply get rid of them), but one that would allow this space to be better than the rest of earth: more peaceful, more perfect.

She flew above the grounds, through the darkening sky, seeing more being formed by the other two. She saw everything that she had made, and behold, it was very good.

And as she went to check the progression of her fellow angels, she thought perhaps, this wouldn't be so bad.


	2. Storm

He was easily the strongest of the three of them, but he couldn't take a form so easily. The angel of recreation had formed a body identical to her previous appearance the moment they arrived on the mortal plain; she had shimmering golden wings that shone like the sun, long, curled strawberry blonde locks framing her slender face: her chestnut eyes and freckled cheeks. she wore blue-white garbs, the colour of the sky; the only piece missing being the ring of light that normally sat on her head. She had broke off from them in an instant, cutting down the humans that had desecrated the land like a vengeful goddess.

His second associate, an angel of death, had been quick to join her, his essence melding with the surrounding shadows and rising from the ground, becoming a black smoke like mass that whispered light curses. He flew by the fleeing and fighting humans almost too quickly to see and by the time any of them registered the dark tinge carried on the backs of their breaths, he had already stopped their hearts.

It was truly disgusting to him that humans could commit such wicked acts, but they did, so they had to face the consequences of their transgressions. So, not wasting time attempting to do what he couldn't, he simply merged himself with the earth beneath them, becoming one with the land.

The earth shook and crumbled, destroying any settlements in the area; Sections of land began softening and pulling mortals to their graves. He allowed the land to rise and fall, to stretch apart and cascade, rebuilding the once near flat plains in his image, creating a much more treacherous domain.

By the time the night fell, the job was done. He observed she, Recreation, had taken to working on their leader, whilst the dark angel had taken one of the corpses to build himself a body. He, however, felt he should make the plains safer for them: less safe for humans.

Firstly, he dug out a canyon that split their new residents into two uneven halves, then for some days he let it rain, filling the crack he'd formed in the ground with freshwater, it's concentration at the centre of the terrain, pooling into an enormous lake. A lake. He dwelled on that thought before promptly switching forms. He could feel his current swishing about the space; this was a much more comfortable form.

With that done, he made it snow, coating the ground in white: a much more favourable colour than the browns and reds that previously painted the earth. As the snow rose, he noticed the angel of recreation was forming something of a barrier, separating them from the outside world, so he chose to aid her. He made a storm: thick fog, large hail, heavy rain, etc. Not so much dangerous, more a warning that could not be ignored.

Lastly, he darkened the sky, letting the bright lilac hues become a pitch black, lit only by what little light seeped through the storm (this place would be for them and _only_ them).


	3. Trees

He had been building a kingdom, granted he had his men murder a monarch to get as far as he had, after starting a revolution under the false implications of making a democratic land. And it was quite easy; he had the right connections. The only flaw was his subjects: many of them had been extremely... _defiant_. So he had used his armies, he had began taking the kingdom he'd earned, piece by piece. Assimilating his people through many means, _exterminating the persistent._

In fact, he had just been doing that. Some filthy peasants had insisted _he_ had no right to be in their clan's land. Then it happened.

* * *

"T-teach" he'd heard his right hand call with a stutter from behind him, fear lacing his tone.

He'd heard some commotion outside the large tent he was staying in, littered with luxuries. he'd expected they could handle whatever was happening themselves.

" _Teach_ " he heard Burgess breath, more stressed. With an annoyed huff he dropped his pen and started to turn around, perhaps he'd set his hopes too high.

Burgess had his back turned to him - he felt an involuntary pang of rage spring through him at the show of disrespect, but shoved it down - and he could see the terror in his semi-hunched form. He made to rise.

"What do you wa-" he started, exasperated, before he felt the earth quiver beneath him, almost knocking him off his feet. stumbling, he caught himself, looking up only to see Burgess fallen on the ground.

Now, with a view if his front, he observed a deep dent in the man's brass armour - he was injured.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something swoop past the entrance of the tent. He forcibly slowed his breathing, trying to keep himself calm at the utter chaos that was now visible to him.

"There's s-something out there, a-a monster-" Burgess began to rant over the rumbling land, as he moved to pull the man up. He ceased him action when the bright-haired man froze, choking on the breath, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

He hadn't just employed Burgess for his bulk. He'd seen his foolish bravery first hand, that had led him to arrogantly march into battle despite the near non-existent odds; hell, he'd exploited it on several occasions. No trivial threat would make him faint out of fear. Perhaps he'd been drugged? Teach, once again attempted to move over to his large, armoured soldier, only to freeze at the sight of a woman.

This woman might not have stood out if she wasn't wearing the strangest clothes - blankets?-, bearing giant wings of gold, and _doused in blood_.

It was storming towards him, face set in an inhuman sneer no normal person could manage; anger flared off it, it's form becoming more hunched an bestial with each stride.

He knew he should have moved; he wasn't sure if it was the crippling panic, or the petrifying glare it had set on him, but one, or both, were holding him in place.

He failed even to stand, as the tremors strengthened, horror coursing through him. The creature stood over him, it's hands pressing against his chest. His breath stopped. She began digging. He started hyperventilating. His open torso, _burned_. He could feel air - _hands -_ in a place it should never reach: _so cold_. With his star-filled, rapidly darkening vision he caught a satisfied expression dance across it's features. It was _enjoying_ this. God, it hU **r _t S_** _o MU **c**_ h, h **E** Co **u** _l **D** N_'tB _R **e**_ **a** T _h,H_ i **s _h_** _e **A** R_T-

Everything went black.

* * *

He couldn't feel anything. His mind felt like it was part of the endless abyss surrounding him, like it was... everywhere.

He couldn't tell how long he'd been there, or recall anything before now.

And, he could feel time lagging around in places.

Honestly, he didn't have much of a problem with this; he was content with just being-

He suddenly felt his person contort and stretch and bend in ways it shouldn't. His mind was pulling and snapping for _so long_ , he tried to scream but nothing came out.

Then it was done. He felt solid, grounded: focused, but disconnected. He almost felt like he wasn't really there, and though now he could think much more clearly, he couldn't see, he couldn't speak.

But, he _could_ hear(feel). He felt vibrations of violations as someone walked under(inside) him - what? - and touch the back of- _aaaaaaahhhhh._

 _It was happening again -_ It was _enjoying_ this.

mentally panting when the pain had finally stopped, he stayed there unable to do anything about the _gaping hole_ in him.

And, so he continued to stay there, _unmoving_ , for a long, long time.


	4. Formed

He whisked by, a shadowy plume of darkness. His precise, careful movements, ensured his every target would go down. As an angel of his profession, he felt it his responsibility carry out this task.

He didn't truly care about the invasion of the sacred land that had filled the angel of recreation with such an intensely righteous fury, _they_ had let it happen, so it was obviously intended. And, though he felt quite discontented at the slaughter of the loyal clan that had seen mortals do _much_ worse. Besides, they would face their true punishment once he struck.

With a jovial trill - what might have been a sung laugh if he had a body - he danced about, catching on the breaths of more of the sinners. The sound was caught by a few unlucky ears, who quickly found nightmares crawling up their eyes, blinding them in deadly hallucinations.

As he drew closer to the easily grandest structure he could feel the humans' ringleader hiding in, he noticed the winged cherub was headed for the same destination; it seemed he would be leaving the man alive: he may be an angel of death, but he didn't have a death wish.

With a slight, silent chortle, he swooped by the entrance to save a mortal bystander from her much more gruesome wrath. He caught a glimpse of the human that had caused this; he was so... _mortal_. He didn't know why he was expecting anything else; it always was just fragile, little mortals: thinking they were something better. He almost felt about what was going to happen to him. Almost.

His expression had been strained; he was hiding his fear well, but no fear could escape his eye. And, so he looked _,_ finding cruel and selfish thoughts, horrifying memories, _plans_...

This man would only receive what he deserved from her.

With that he continued his task.

* * *

He had been cleaning up stragglers, when he'd seen what she was doing.

She had trapped the leader - his soul - in a wooden prison: a suitable fate until he passed.

 _What a wonderful idea,_ after all, most of the souls hadn't departed yet. He allowed the surrounding corpses to melt away, decomposing into the ground, sprouting roots, and near instantly bursting into all sorts of trees, catching the souls as the old bodies once had.

Satisfied with this, he took to traversing the plains again, this time with the intention of keeping the invaders alive.

When the deed was finally done, he was left with a pile of useless, empty, half rotted bodies: souls already gone.

He was currently admiring one in particular. It was slender, tall and wide eyed, half the skeleton was already visible. He'd made his choice.

He called for the skin and muscle still on the remains to shrivel into nothing, before hoisting up, and holding it under the rushing waters of the river he'd noticed the angel of protection had made not too long ago.

Then, he pulled it back up and lay it down, willing it dry. And with a quiet prayer of thanksgiving to the sinner it had belonged to, he took it as his form.

He slowly rose, flexing his new joints. _This would work nicely._ As a final touch, he let the shadow mass of his previous form recollect on the blank scalp of his skull, where it stood to tall and large, while it's mass swished and shrank and grew like a flame. It could have passed as an afro. He found him self laughing a strange laugh, with a strange voice - they felt natural: like his.

With his new body complete, he allowed the rest of the pile to turn into trees, and used one of the many scattered weapons left behind to cut them down.

* * *

He admired the large, comfortable shack he had built with pride, waking into the space as the sky began to darken.

And thus the land was done. Any weapons he didn't collect had been all too hastily swallowed into the ground, and aside from the odd chat he had with his neighbours, all he ever truly did was make carvings from trees of whatever souls he felt like freeing, expand his living area, and replace chopped trees with whoever was foolish enough to trespass on their home.

And that was the way thing stayed for a long, _long_ time...


	5. Marco

Marco staggered through the raging storm, arm in his face, as he pushed on through the darkness of the raging storm.

His limbs were aching from biting iced winds, and the jagged hail stones stabbing into his skin, but he was determined; he wouldn't let them catch up to him again, he couldn't risk that.

Slowly, but surely, he continued through the attacking blizzard until it finally died down. The blonde haired man wasn't sure where he was, but that didn't really matter now; what did matter was getting as far away as possible.

Holding his thin, tired arms out in front of him, he forced his abused legs to carry him forward through the near pitch blackness of the terrain - he couldn't see more than a few steps ahead.

As he traversed deeper into the nightmarish hills, the cold began to burn his limbs, his fatigue became much more prominent as he struggled even to stand, and the steadily increasing obscurity began to light up as stars twinkled along his vision, likely due to either his excruciating hunger, aching wounds, mind-numbing exhaustion, or a combination of the three.

Finally, after a distance, unable to go any further, he collapsed into the snow...

* * *

Unsure, of where he was, why everything hurt, or whether he'd been asleep for hours or days, he registered the most pressing issue: it was _cold_.

Eventually, opening his eyes, revealing dull, broken blue orbs, he felt his wet, and icy rags sticking to his numb, aching skin. _Not dead_ , he thought apathetically. He attempted to rise, only to find most of his body to frozen to move. _Yet_ , he added dryly. Gathering what little strength he could manage, he used his single working arm to pull his limp form through the shadowed forest.

His already frozen hand, quickly felt ready to fall off - despite it maintaining the clawed position Marco needed for movement, he could barely feel it at this point, only vaguely registering the burning sensation that encompassed the limb.

Then his hand touched water: ice cold water. With some effort he managed to ignore the absolute _agony_ that was currently his right hand, and chose to, instead focus on the _water_ in front of him. His dehydration rose to the front of his mind, and he found himself desperately submerging his head, and drawing in as much water as he could in one go.

As the miraculous liquid slid down his throat, quenching his thirst, it did something else; he felt his pain dull, his temperature rise, his hunger disappear. And, for a moment, he felt his senses heighten, lighting up the landscape through his eyes, before the effect wore off, leaving him feeling fresh and rejuvenated.

He sat up, slowly (painlessly). He then stood, stretching with incomprehensive expression. He then moved his legs - they felt stronger than than they had in a long time - experimentally dunking them into the water, only, to emit a sharp gasp, now that his mind could properly process what the water was doing to him.

As he submerged his body, up to his nose, scanning over the area with new eyes. He was in a lake. He didn't know why he felt like this: what the water was doing to him, but he could have stood in the water forever. He didn't even feel the cold of it anymore; he didn't think he'd ever felt better than this - which might not have been saying much, considering where he was before this.

He absentmindedly noticed the lake had gained a slight wave, pulling him in like a siren's melody; he had to start kicking lightly to stay afloat.

 _It dragged him down._

The freshwater mass had suddenly yanked him into it's depths, and as he started thrashing about in an attempts to break to the surface to no avail. He flailed as the liquid forced it's way down his airways, filling his lungs. His actions were purely based on logic; despite his frantic movements, he wasn't panicking; The water felt almost calming, reassuring, and the acidic sensation of inhaling water simply wasn't there.

His senses dulled, as he gave in to the comforting substance filling his body...

Everything went dark.

* * *

The river angel let his waters rap around the fragile humans soul, with care and kindness, as it rose from the body. When the mortal had drank from his water he'd felt furious (the audacity!), and ready kill the him from the inside, but as his essence passed through the human, and he sensed such a kind soul, one that had truly suffered at the hands of his kind; without hesitation, he moved his healed the human, letting himself disperse in the weak, frail human.

He'd felt the poor things shocked appreciation, and welcomed the human male into his form, slowly pulling the human deeper, so he could better care for him.

Once he'd decided the boy was deep enough he hastily pulled them down, fully submerging their perishable form under his tides. The abused human obviously didn't understand what he was trying to do, as they immediately panicked; he pushed his waters into the human, lacing each drop with good intent and concern he knew they human had received little of in their short life.

After a bit the soul finally separated from the body, allowing it to float lifelessly along his waves, back onto the shore. His watery mass lovingly embraced the boy's soul. He was only 18 yet, the angel could feel so much fear and pain encrypted in the soul.

He upturned the earth, forming an island in the centre of his form.

He wouldn't let the child be hurt again.

* * *

The skeletal angel waltzed through the hills in a new black suit he had gotten from the cargo of a trespassing human, and had the angel of recreation refine for him.

He was currently following set of sloppy footprints - and the occasional droplet of blood - to find _and catch_ whatever mortal was wandering through their domain.

He followed them for a while, humming a tune he had recently come up with, and eventually, the trail ended, at the angel of protection's lake. The angel had clearly done his work for him; the corpse lay on the angel's shore and they were carrying the soul in their form.

...He was _embracing_ it.

He could feel the lake angel's attention directed at him, in his confusion.

"I want a tree for my child" the angel said, in an deep echoing voice as the image of his heavenly form appeared in the body of water.

"...what?" The skeleton said, not hiding confusion at the phrasing of the question.

"I said, I want a tree, on that island," he noticed the new mass of land in the middle of the lake, "to hold my human's soul while I... _talk_ with ψυχαγωγικός " the image in the lake elaborated, their last word - name - coming out as an indescribable series of feelings and sounds, and yet, despite the explanation, he wasn't any less confused.

Shrugging it off, he carefully took the soul, and slung the body over his shoulder, choosing not to look too deeply into it (or get to involved). With a large, graceful leap he landed on the small isle, and began the process.

* * *

"No." She said simply for what must have been the third year. She didn't understand how the angel residing in the lake could want he to give this _human_ a new form, and let it live there with them; it was ridiculous! Yet, each and every day, his water would rise from the lake and demand the same outlandish request. He had begun his argument to he rejection; it was routine at this point. She wanted nothing but for him to understand how badly this would turn out-

An idea struck her.

"I'll do it." she interrupted suddenly, in a devious mood - _this was bound to work_.

The other angel seemed to catch her intention, but desperate for help as she knew he was, he must have chose to ignore and allow her to give _'his child'_ a form.

And a form she would provide.

* * *

Marco was drifting for a while, unsure of... _anything_ really. Just that he was here and there was somebody holding him: _somebody nice_.

Then the feeling of that presence surrounding him went away, and he was in the hands of another; they were someone who didn't care, like everyone else he'd ever met. But, thankfully that didn't last; soon he was that person was gone, and then he felt _solid_ , he was focussed, but he felt... weird (why couldn't he move?)

He didn't really mind it; he wasn't hurting anymore, and the first presence often visited him, letting his seep into him; it felt so warm and _right_. It didn't make much sense, but Marco stopped questioning it after A WHILE.

A long time passed, and eventually, something _new_ happened.

* * *

Marco felt himself fall; his skin felt new and comfortable. He stretched and a bright light caught his attention; there were blue-yellow flames that roared on the backs of his hands. He jolted back, trying to shake them out; fear and adrenaline coursing through him, both vivid and clear after he'd gone such a long time without feeling the two once familiar emotions.

Instantly that fear was pushed back down and replaced with _warmthandloveandcareandcalmness_ the likes of which he'd never felt as a cloak of water - that, for some reason sort of felt like it was burning him - wrapped around him (what?).

" _Fire?_ " he'd heard the water boom almost angrily... something about that didn't sound right, but - he snuggled into the water, ignoring years of conditioning he'd used to remain stoic faced in almost any situation - he didn't really care.

"You said you didn't want 'your human' getting hurt again, so a phoenix's flames" He almost flinched as a jolt of anger ran through watery substance embracing him, "Is that not what you asked for" the being(what was she?) continued mockingly. The water bristled, and he tensed angrily, causing the water to freeze and calm him down again.

She scoffed and flew away.

Marco noticed he was on an tiny island in the middle of a lake. An image, a man, formed on the lake's surface; he felt like the water. The man smiled fondly at him - a euphoric feeling washed over him - and the water around him tightened.

"Welcome home my child"

The man's voice was loud, but soft and compassionate. His words sounded right.

Marco gave a quiet "hello" back.

This seemed right.


	6. Corazon

Corazon clung tightly to the stolen horse under him, as speedily ricochet through the storm, pushing his face into the galloping creature's mane to shield his face from onslaught of frozen stone, and volatile winds that rushed him like murderous spectres.

He panted tiredly, eyes drooping as his tight grip weaked for long moments at a time. His torso ached from the deep stab wound he had recieved when he had escaped.

He flinched at another unexpected jump, his diaphragm tightening as his breath hitched. He had been like this for hours, riding away the day — he was _so_ tired. He knew he had to keep running though; his brother goons were likely to be tailing him, and if his brother got his hands on him-

he'd rather not think about what would happen. His brother wasn't one people messed with, which only aided him in his immoraral work. And, now that his brother had found out about his treachurous information trading, he could only run.

Corazon realized, he must have been dwelling on the past for much longer than he'd thought he had, because it had been midday not long ago, yet now, it was black; he could barely see.

As it got progressingly darker, it seemed his horse had noticed the same thing, the ride becoming much more bumpy, as the white-furred stallion jolted every few seconds, frantically trying to prevent collision with the trees that kept popping up in their path.

However, due his grip being weakened from exhaustion, and the darkness only growing in obscurity, when the creature's lack of night vision, finally led to an inevitable crash, He had gone flying of the stallion's back, into another tree, agrivaring his open, probably infexted injury, and slamming his head against the wood.

A loud crack echoed through his head, but be wasn't sure where it came from. Then everything went fuzzy and he felt really light headed.

* * *

The recreational angel sat atop her small stone house, she'd had the angel of death recently refurnish with his works. She was currently focused on putting a sweet horse to sleep.

Mortal thoughts and feelings could easily be controlled by simple mixtures to the nerves or brain: chemical releases. Controlling them was as simple as flicking a wrist for her; she was doing it right now.

Adrenaline, panic, and a touch of blindness had the poor creature banging itself into trunks, until the blunt trauma eventually separated it's soul from it's body. She almost felt ashamed at the guilty pleasure watching it die had given here; things with the angel of protection had been... irritating lately, he was teaching his pet human — or, as he so valiantly protested. _'son'_ — to use phoenix flames she'd gifted it, to fly. She huffed angrily as she thought about the infuriatingly stubburn angel.

With a scowl, she redirected her attention to the concussed human that lay, groaning, in front of _her home._

Normally, she would leave it there, and wait for the angel of death to take care of it, but the murmers and moans from the human were quickly increasing in volume, grating away at what little patience she had left.

She glided down, landing in his extremely limited field of vision, causing him to start mumbling something about angels and being dead. it was fairly obvious that there was something wrong with the human — she knew for sure their pupils should be the same size.

As she moved to kill it, the human curled up in fear; oddly enough, not at her — it was strange to feel fear that wasn't directed at her — but at something else they were seeing: hallucinating.

It quickly became intoxicating; it, _he_ she corrected, was so terrified; the endless apologies plaguing his whispers were filling her with a pith, a need to help that she had never felt before — _was this what the lake angel had been trying to tell her?_

She lovingly had the human drift off, before pulling his soul from his body with a gentle, motherly hand, and rebuilding her human's body...

* * *

Corazon sat in a tree, ram like horns growing out from over his horns, and unatrally large bubble floating in place around him, as he watched her paint the sky with stars, as he had requested.

When he'd first reawoken, he felt a strage illogical safety: protection; All memories of his brother pushed down, making them feel like far off dreams. And she was the cause of it.

He didn't understand why the, as she had claimed, angel had helped him so much, or why she was taking care of him, but he only felt trust and happiness when they spoke, or spent time together; he would gladly stay here forever if he had to...


	7. Thatch

Marco sat high above the treetops, in phoenix form, it had been a _long_ time since he'd first arrived in the sacred land, guarded by the three angels — now _that_ had taken some getting used to — and he'd loved living here.

Most of his time was spent with pops (he couldn't even begin to pronounce the angel's real name), but any that wasn't was spent flying, or watching the skeleton sing or work; he didn't seem to have an opinion on his presence, so long as he didn't get in the way of the angel's woodworks.

He'd also borrowed books and appliances the angel had taken from trespassers, using them to pass the time, he was never stopped.

He felt some deal of gratitude towards the skeleton that had built him a holder for his soul, but the angel either, didn't care, or like the other, didnt want to get involved with him, because he was human. He didn't really mind.

He'd tried spending time with the other human; Corazon had shown up about a decade ago, but they'd both found keeping to their respective guardians had simply been better. although they did still hang around each other on occasion — he understood him.

He also liked to take the skeleton's wood carvings, sawdust, and occasionally, just let his flames _roar_ , and burn away any debree or kindling he'd pooled together on his tiny island.

But mainly he'd sat on the shores of his chosen father, just talking or simply being with him, when he grew tired of swimming. Swimming was much more preferable: intimate, but over time the feeling of his fire being _dominated_ by the water body of his father became too much to bare (he could still manage it for days at a time).

According to pops that was what she had intended when she'd made his new body. She hated him, his humanity.

She'd warmed up to him after she had found Corazon, but Marco'd found himself unable to trust her, despite her (honestly minimal) efforts the repent for he attitudes towards him.

What was he doing now? he was watching a man that had wandered deep into their territories, without running into the skeletal angel who almost always getting this far.

He wore a dirtied white coat, something along the lines of what a chef might wear, and had a bulky bag, that appeared to be stuffed to the brim. The man wore a yellow scarf and had large red hair.

As he took off his filthy coat, and moved it towards pops, Marco's eyes narrowed, and he leaped down at an impressive speed.

* * *

Thatch made a move to wash his jacket, it had gotten filthy when he was hiding, as well as singed, and spotted with crusty dried blood.

He jumped as he heard the snow crunch behind him, turning into a defencive stance. He saw a tall, well-built blonde man, with bright blue eyes and a purple shirt landing on the ground, crouched.

Thatch blinked: still there. He reached into his bag, pulling out a canister of water, and taking a long swig of water, wetting his dry throat. He probably should have acknowledged something was wrong earlier, when it went from dawn, to pitch black, stars easily visible. But, to preserve supplies he'd left it, and now he was seeing a man with a bright, expenive-looking summer clothes _in the snow_ , with a pinapple for a head; this probably said a lot about his current frame of mind.

A glance: still there. He groaned, lying back against the snow, maybe it was the cold getting to him.

"Why are yo here, yoi?" the hallucination asked in an mistrusting tone. He sighed again, he wasn't going to make this worse by talking to himself.

" _Answer me_ " it spoke again, _here we go._

He effortlessly slipped on the fake smile he was so well known for, "Well, I _was_ washing my shirt before you came along, pinapple head" he snipped back, exhaustion lacing his tone.

The vision seemed contemplative, as if picking up on his tired, broken tone. "...are you okay?" it asked, with concern.

"I'm tired, alone, and homeless again, so yeah, I'm about as good as I always am, _sky man_ " he quipped, quickly.

The man that had 'fallen from the sky' recoiled at that one, his expression softened, before he gave a comback to Thatch's earlier statement, "you look like a beaver". And, that _crossed_ the line.

"I had to re-brush my hair for _hours_ after walking through a nightmare of a storm to get my _gorgeous_ pompadour back to this condition, while you _grew_ your head of hair like the pinapple it is and froze it!" He argued offended.

" _Only_ the storm could have made your hair look that unaturally large"

"Ha! i'll have you know, it's _poofy"_

And that's how the next few hours went by, immature bickering and friendly quips; the two sat conversing by the lake unaffected by time — and Thatch noticed, strangely also cold — and Thatch soon found himself truly smiling, enjoying the company, almost forgetting he was talking to a trick-of-the-mind. Then an image appeared in the water, and began talking to him gently.

 _He'd really gone over the deep end hadn't he._

* * *

The lake angel talked to the young human that entertained his son so; the child was smart, an absolute joy, his son liked him, and he was in need of a home.

He pulled up his waters, letting them wrap around the cheery boy, as he (regrettably) sent Marco to find _her._

This, Thatch would be be a nicce addition.

* * *

Thatch wooped happily, as he launched the semi-translucent chains attached to his wrists outwards, letting them wrap around branch after branch, propelling him through the forest, closely after a certain flaming bird.

The two stopped after a distance, Thatch collapsing and panting, as Marco crounched by his side smirking, wings still out.

A groan emmited from Thatch's near see through form, "Best 46 out of 90" he mumbled, determined.

"First back to Pops?" Marco offered.

Thatch jumped up and bounded forward with a burst of speed, using the wind to propel him, "First back to Pops" he called back laghing at his quickly closeting brother.


	8. Shakky

Humming, the angel of death waltzed through the woods, actually doing his job for once. No human had entered their domain for tha past few months, much to the three adopted super-humans' displeasure — they seemed to greatly enjoy the human luxuries that many travellers carried with them.

He honestly didn't inderstand the other two angels' newfound obsession with mortals. While, he'd found their presence tolerable (somewhat enjoyable at times), he knew humans were fickle; they'd soon grow tired of this place and start asking for more, simply because they could: that's how human are.

He'd caught sight of footprints in this area of the forest, so as always he was here to catch the soul of the human that was wondering on their la-

"meow", the skelatal angel stopped. He turned around to spot a large grey cat sitting in the snow. There wasn't a single pawprint surrounding it. It's empty ebody, blue-ringed eyes bore up into his empty eye sockets.

This was an odd turn of events; animals rarely pushed through the storm, and when they did, actively avoided him. Being more attentive than humans, they could sense an air of death about him (literally).

Of course it would be a _cat_. Mortals had many stories, superstitions, and just overall bad attitudes towars the creatures, and in most cases, surprisingly, _they're not wrong_. If even human's could pick up on their less than ordinary nature, then it was obvious cats could be... _strange_ to say the least.

He turned his attention back to the feline that had _drawn in_ by his dealy, hallucination inducing tune, still just sitting there, unmoving, unblinking, _barely breathing_. When he made to move closer, gathering a small wisp from his 'hair', it darted forward, too quickly for him to follow (what?), leaping up his startled form and sitting on his head.

In the plume of sparkling, mortal-killing gaseous shadows.

...strange was an understatement.

With a huff, he chose to do his best to ignore the current predicament, walking along in his continued search, whilst the odd cat sat on it perch, almost impressively mimicking his earlier hum.

* * *

After walking some distance, the angel had been alerted of a stream of smoke in the distance by the cat (still didn't make any sense to him _how_ ). and made his way in that direction.

The angel (and his companion) soon stood in view of the stream running through the woods. She sat by the icy shore, with her back turned towards him, breathing a long breath if smoke through he cigarette - he felt as though she seen him though.

"Come here Laboon" she said in a sing-song tone, accompanied by a large puff of smoke.

To his surprise, the cat — _Laboon_ — hopped down from this shadowy mass on his scalp, moving to sit upright, at her side.

He took a wisp of darkness in his hand, about to will it in her direction-

"So skeleton-man, d'you have a name", So she _did_ know he was here. Human's that caught site of him always screamed, or panicked, or ran, etcetera, etcetera; fear poured of them in waves: _this_ though, this was new.

Keeping the handful of toxic fumes by his side, he curiously engaged in conversation with this odd human.

"Not one you could say, human", he replied coolly.

The woman hummed in contemplation, "Then we'll have to make one up for you, won't we".

 _W_ _hat_. Everything she said to him just made him feel more confused.

"You're not afraid?", The angel questioned, not feeling the need to clarify.

Then she _snorted. "_ You're the twelfth 'scariest _'_ thing I have ever seen, and that's pushing it", she remarked, then added, "but, if it's any consolation, a living skeleton is definitely the forth _strangest_ thing I can say I've ever seen".

"Thank you?", He offered, unsure of what he should make of that.

"Who said _you_ were that skeleton", _And,_ it was back to being confused. He swore this woman was as strange as her cat; he absentmindedly acknowledged that Laboon hadn't actually taken a breath since they'd jumped off his head.

"What about Randy?", She suddenly asked.

"Excuse me?", he questioned back at her random question.

"Geez, have you been paying attention, _your name_ ", pause, "Do you have a brain in there?"

For some reason, he'd found that _absolutely hilarious_ , and fought to keep down the heap of childish giggles forming in his thro- _Oh Lord,_ _he didn't have a throat either_.

As if sensing the invisible smile than broke out on his fleshless face, the woman smirked. "Your hair looks like smoke; what about Smoker?"

He wouldn't deny that he had thought about taking up a second name. After all, the angel of recreation had talked to him about it, and the angel of protection _had_ renamed himself; one of his humans had jokingly given him the nickname, 'Whitebeard', because of his tusk like facial hair: he'd remembered how land had rumbled at his bellowing laughter at the name. But there was no way in the seven hells he'd let a human decide something like that for him; the day he did, would be the day he asked the recreational angel to reform a human for h-

" _B_ _ut,_ it also does flow like the waves in the brook... how about River", she supplied, deep in thought.

 _Brook_. Gods, that sounded perfect... Wow, today was turning out to be the _strangest_ day.

Laboon finally exhaled, at the same time, the woman blew a circle of smoke, Laboon's breath darkening the smog with the deadly gas he breathed in while riding atop his head.

Brook found laughing loudly at the sheer _oddness_ of the two, "Yohohohohohoho".

"You have a weird laugh River... maybe you could take the place of that skeleton on the list", she said, a mischievous smirk playing across her features, as she'd seemed to have picked out a name to call him, "Oh, and my name is Shakuyaku" she added, realising she never introduced herself.

Brook stood tall making a decision, "Well then, Shakky. Laboon. Would you like to meet an acquaintance of mine".

* * *

Shakky walked after Brook, with her nose in a book, while Laboon perched upon his shoulder. The two were singing a melodious tune, Laboon's mewls adding an echo to the relaxing song. Two men in front of them clutching their ears and screaming, as they crumpled into the snow. Looking away from her book for a moment, Shakky let a stream of smoke pour from between her lips, rapping around the heads of the screeching humans, only dispersing when they finally fell, limp.

Laboon pounced forward, catching the souls in his tail, while Shakky had began to rummage through the large satchels the men had slung on. Brook cleared his throat, queuing for her to move from the corpses.

"Ah!", She exclaimed happily in her constant restrained tone, reaching the second bag. "A novel, ooh and a newspaper, I wonder how large the area it's printed for is", she said picking up both bags.

"Can you two finish up here, I'm going to go drop some of these off at the house. And extort Thatch with this food, God knows he'll do anything for some cooking supplies", she said deviously, as she walked away. Brook watched his dear friend disappear into the garden of trees with a light, unseen smile. _That woman was something else_.


	9. Haruta

Brook could tell exactly where the human he was looking for was: peering through the leaves in one of the _tallest_ trees, high above. He started singing lightly, expecting Laboon to join and the human to fall, but neither happened. Laboon sat on top of him, mostly obscured by his 'hair', head tilted to side as he stared up in the direction of the hiding mortal, as if caught of something out of the ordinary.

The only explanation he could think of was that they couldn't hear him, but that didn't make sense, as all was silent, save for the crackling of a fire in the distance that he knew human ears would be unable to pick up on from this distance. Perhaps the human was ignoring him then; he found it extremely insulting that _any_ mortal could ignore his beautifully composed music. A glance up at the human went unnoticed due to his lack of eyes - _ha!_ \- revealed piercing eyes with more focus and intensity than human eyes should hold; they're attention was on him and him alone.

 _Then why?_

He tried singing louder: nothing happened. He would have scowled if he could, he made a move to pull simply draw out a piece of his hair and end this, but they bolted through the treetops at his movement with a swift agility he would never expect from a human. _Odd_. Laboon was already hot on their heels, so, at a much slower pace he decided to follow, knowing the cat would likely have the soul caught in his tail by the time he'd have caught up.

But, he couldn't stop himself from dwelling on why the human was unresponsive to his song, why all that he felt coming of them was curiosity (then annoyance?), on what his companion had noticed...

* * *

Haruta had hopped and swung from branch to branch, as if they were the tops of buildings, careful to keep herself obscured by the leaves, in case there was anyone (anything?) else wandering underneath.

She couldn't help but want to go back and take a closer look at whatever she had seen was; It was composed like a human in stature, but was without colour, and lacking cheeks. She assumed it had been speaking - maybe to her? - when it's 'mouth' began moving up and down with a consistent rhythm, teeth clacking against each other ( _they must have had a strong stone-like texture_ ). She didn't know why but at that she felt somewhat threatened, and then when it moved again, her adrenaline spiked, causing her body to tense, and she'd known she'd _needed_ to run; her instinct hadn't failed her before, so of course, that's exactly what she had done.

She headed faster in the direction she saw was brighter that it's surroundings; light meant people most times. She felt like she was being tailed, and this was proved when she caught slight irregularities not far behind her in the way the leaves were rustling from the wind. She sped up.

She soon approached a clearing where spotted a small, dug out circle devoid of snow, and covered in glowing embers, a pot sat over the space, with an assortment of dried meats, leaves and fruits. As she landed on the snow-covered ground she shifted her weight, careful not to let herself sink into the soft, sludgy forest floor.

The intoxicating scent of the cooking food wormed it's way up her nose; it smelt _delicious_ , but it was throwing off her senses. Trying to block it out, she turned, catching sight of what had been chasing her: slowly strutting over to her was a large cat with a white belly, and dark grey, almost blue looking fur. It had a curious air to it, and black, blue-ringed eyes, and it was _So Cute._

She ran up to the creature, scratching it softly behind the neck in a way she knew cats tended to enjoy. She felt vibrations travel up her hand, telling her it was purring, and it's mouth opened wide in a long or loud mewl - she could never tell the difference with them. She'd always loved animals; they weren't as judge-y as people tended to be, and they relied heavily on body language to communicate, making them much easier to understand. With one last pet to the sweet feline's head, she gave a toothless smile, and turned her attention back to the lone standing dish.

She knew whoever was out here probably needed that food; she knew towns in the area were _very_ far between. But she was _sooo hungry_ , and it wasn't like they'd notice she'd tasted it. She cautiously plucked a piece of meat of the pot, and popped it in her mouth, _It was so good~_

The sweet cat seemed to be beckoning for her to take more, but she knew better then to listen to a cat about what she could and couldn't eat from experience, although not all the dead birds she'd received had never really tasted _that_ bad...

* * *

In her opinion, the berries in the dish tasted the best, but they were much better acting as a sweetener for the meat. Haruta had quickly given in to her hunger, and had nearly finished the entire pot, with some help from the cat that had followed her. She noticed her furry companion glancing off to the right, and followed his line of sight.

She flinched, tense body moving upright as she prepared to flee at the sight of a tall man with large red hair at the edge of the space. She only stayed, because the man made a peaceful gesture, raising his hands in front of him as his mouth began to move. From the words he said, she was able to pick out 'calm', 'okay', and 'boon'. The first two had her calming slightly, though she remained ready to bolt, but she was unsure of what the last word could mean.

He gave a pointed look at the cat next to her, who's eyes seemed to be shining with mirth as they rubbed up against her in faux innocence.

'really...Laboon...outsider...not for...' she saw the man say with an exasperated look.

He turned back to her, rubbing the back of his neck with an easy expression. 'sorry...your hungry... more... if... with me' she picked up. Now, she knew better than to follow strangers... who were in chains, that she was pretty she could _see through,_ that were (probably) giving her _really good_ food, but, she just needed to keep control over the situation and she could leave at any time.

* * *

Thatch grinned as the child moved to follow him. They _had_ eaten the perfectly comprised dish he'd left cooking over here, but for whatever reason Laboon seemed to like her, and Laboon didn't _like_ easily. He only liked the angels... and maybe Shakky, it was kind of hard to tell... _but he could forgive Laboon for not liking the absolute greatness that is him, because he liked his food._

Once Laboon had kicked snow over the smouldering patch, he started to lead her to the others, certain that the clearly malnourished child would appreciate his cooking more than those Cretans. He could feel her intense stare on his back as they walked, Laboon close beside her.

He'd tried to make conversation, but she'd adamantly ignored him, shifting uneasily as whenever the distance between them closed, resulting in quiet hisses from Laboon. So, his attempts at conversation drifted into him talking about... in hindsight, he _probably_ shouldn't have been talking about to a 'trespassing human'. They drifted back into a tense silence when she refused to acknowledge his attempts.

When they finally arrived by Pops' shore, Marco and Corazon sat playing a board game they had gotten recently, despite neither of them actually understanding how to play - he suspected Shakky and Marco might have figured it out. Marco had a victorious air about him, so Thatch assumed he was winning, Shakky lay off to the side, half stargazing, half watching the game. Pops was also watching the two play, amused, while the other angel sat against a tree staring off absentmindedly, the only one actually eating what he had set out, likely only because he'd been so dejected at their lack of interest in his pursuit.

Laboon ran forward over to the angel of recreation, alerting the group of their presence. They all stared at the kid, who seemed really fidgety at being around so many people. He paid them no mind, moving to pick up an untouched bowl of broth, before handing it to her. Although she took it eagerly, she remained on edge as she began drinking from it, eyes darting about, trying to monitor everyone, especially Corazon and the recreational angel, probably due to their less than normal appearances.

" _Thatch_ " Marco said slowly, "who's this?".

"The kid, is someone who actually _appreciates_ my cooking" Thatch said with a frustrated huff.

"We still don't need to eat Thatch" Marco droned in his _stupid_ , apathetic voice with a look of exasperation, as he slapped Corazon's hand, which had been drifting dangerously close to Marco's pieces on the board, without looking back, drawing a yelp from the man.

"But we _can_ ", Thatch argued in an unwavering tone.

"Doesn't mean you can go around feeding random people who, _trespass_ on our land, Thatch", Marco shot back, and he had a good point, but Thatch wasn't about to admit that.

"We were all trespassers once", he tried, "besides, what's the harm in giving the kid a last meal?".

"He makes a good point, Phoenix" Corazon piped, still rubbing his hand. This drew a glare from Marco.

Thatch's tiny victory was short lived, "Do you even know the kid's name?" Shakky questioned, uninterested, much more focused at the 'conversation' between Laboon and the angel of recreation, though she had mischievous glint in her eyes: she already knew the answer.

As Thatch flushed, the kid spoke; "M' name... ith Haruta", the kid - Haruta - said with a look of deep concentration, redrawing their attention. "End I... n-ot a kid", she added cringing a bit, likely at how strange her speech was... _that was strange_.

"Gurararara, greetings brat", their father bellowed at Marco's victory and Haruta's (nervous?) introduction, causing the land shake slightly with his laughter. Haruta looked startled for a second, patting the ground, before brushing off her shock.

He couldn't help but find the way Haruta brushed off his adopted parent as rude, meanwhile a look of realization passed over Shakky, while the winged angel strode over to Haruta. The 16-year old seemed to be trying to move, but couldn't - she had that effect on people. Then the kid slumped, her soul rising over to the angel. He going to miss her.

Then, much to his surprise, she started reshaping, the body - Haruta was joining them. Pops seemed to understand, feeling something radiate from the soul, Shakky and Laboon seemed to understand completely, while Marco and Corazon seemed to share his bewilderment. Brook waltzed onto the scene as Shakky made to explain.

Shakky huffed, a heavy puff of smoke escaping from her. "She's deaf." the woman said simply.

Brook simply nodded, Marco seemed slightly stunned for a moment, quickly excepting the statement, Corazon bore a shocked expression, but Thatch:

"EEEEEEEHHHHH!".

* * *

Thatch creped through the woods as lightly as he could; his chains rattling wasn't helping, then he found himself neck deep in the ground.

A small white rabbit with short, nubby antlers bopped him on the nose, before rising into a human (-ish) form.

"I WIN" Haruta nearly yelled; sound was such a foreign concept to her, but she loved it. Teaching her to speak properly had been a nightmare though. She still had trouble with volume.

Thatch snorted, "I was going easy on you little bro".

"YEAH, FOR the pAST _SeveNTY-EIGHT_ GAMES".

"...I'm a great brother" Thatch concluded.

Haruta giggled, digging up Thatch.


	10. Izo

Izo sat in his wrecked wagon, a mirror in his hand, as he touched up his hair. That storm had ruined nearly all his cargo, the horse he had bought was gone: collapsed from the cold. He did his best to drag the broken mode of transportation as far as he could, but for as toned as his arms were, he couldn't carry a wagon four times his size (very far). The snow was deep, pulling him down like quick sand, and he would be lying if he said the sight of frozen over splinters and cuts marring his hands from his effort didn't make him queasy.

He'd gone inside the small wooden structure, wrapping amongst the warmer, less valuable fabrics, covering his blemished hands in soothing creams, bandage and after a bit composition, some long red gloves with a simply _gorgeous_ black embroidery matching his belt like sash - making them was decidedly unnecessary, but it did a great deal to calm him down: helped him to gather his thoughts.

He gazed over the expensive, quality fabrics, and garbs, and threads, and wools, as well as the heaps of accompanying equipment. He had been given up on his small clothing shop at home, as people refused to shop there, some resorting to vandalism and robbery to express their distaste at his less... _masculine attributes._ To put it simply he'd become something a pariah ever since he'd started cross dressing publicly; he didn't feel he should have to hide it, and if that made others sneer as they passed, and mothers steer their children away from him in the streets, then so be it.

Because, people had begun to avoid even the _street_ his business was situated on, he'd moved his business elsewhere; he'd taken to travelling, always seeing new places, new buyers, yet still wherever he seemed to go there would always be _someone_ that treated him like some kind of heretic for being himself.

At that, he went back to anxiously fixing his hair, as he tried to comprise a solution to his unexpected situation, when the torn up, freezing tarp in the wagon's entryway shifted revealing a head of short, matted chestnut hair: A child?

Perhaps people actually lived out here: he could get help (unless these people were bigoted assholes too). Actually, now that he thought about it, it was more likely that there were other people _stranded_ after that ferocious tundra of a storm.

"Hey there kid...", Izo spoke gently, in the least threatening voice he could muster, giving the child - he looked about fifteen - a light, warm smile.

His head rose, no longer covered by the sheet; Izo could see two strong, piercing navy-blue eyes on pale skin, under a thick dark green cloak that hung loosely on the child's form. The child stared at him in open curiosity, before smiling giddily at him, as if having made a judgement.

"HI, Do yOU NEed HELp", he asked, Izo flinched at the unexpected volume and absolute lack of intonation, before nodding gratefully at them.

"Please", Izo punctuated politely, "Do you live around here?", he added hopefully.

"YEP", the kid semi-yelled, popping the 'p', whilst he gestured for the man to follow with a mischief glint in his eyes. Knowing he didn't really have a choice, but to follow him, Izo chose to pretend he hadn't seen the look the child had flashed him, instead opting to offer him a weary smile as he rose.

"Lead the way".

* * *

Izo walked briskly, panting lightly, trying to keep up with the rambunctious child, kimono pulled high, so not to trail it through the snow. The boy leading him was scampering about, practically running up the tree walls, as he chattered quickly - _and loudly_ he was grating at his ears- about his family, after Izo had asked who he lived out here with.

"-anD POps LIKes BEIng cALLed WHITebeard; I THINk he thiNKS It's FUNny; MarcO SAid ThATCH Came UP WIth it buT THE _S_ _he DOE_ sn't HAVe anoTHER NAMEe yet, anD HEr 'noW' ONE is reaLLY DIffiCULT TO say- _sAY,",_ the kid stopped in his tracks turning back towards Izo suddenly, greatly shocking the man.

"WhAT Is yoUR NAme, ladY?" He asked, a face of genuine curiosity.

"Izo", he chose to respond plainly, realizing the kid thought he was a woman, and as deeply as it irked him he chose to ignore it.

"COol, M' NAmes HaRUTA".

"That's a girl's name", Izo observed, before reprimanding himself for the rude statement.

"...yEAH, it iS", the child said, tilted head. He seemed slightly confused at his comment for some reason, while not taking an offense.

They walked quite a bit further, and Izo was beginning to wonder whether it was an intelligent decision to ask a young boy to aid him, when a glow in the distance became visible, and mere minutes later they had arrived at a large, well build cabin.

It was large, two story house, and it looked sturdy and well insulated, though a deeper inspection of the building's structure, it seemed like a small house that might have been added on to over time. It was impressive. Had Izo not seen Haruta's clothing (a thick, but worn pair of worn brown pants, and a green shirt in the same condition) he might have believed this to be the home of some rick hermits. One of the windows was lit up brightly, Izo suspected a candle had been placed by the sill.

"WELL HEre wE ARE", Haruta exclaimed with a prideful vigour. "Me anD BROOk anD SHAKky aND LAboon sTAY herE".

Haruta grabbed Izo by the arm, eagerly pulling him into the house, and through various halls and rooms. The rooms they passed were filled with an abundance of wooden furnishings, trinkets and other items. Haruta finally allowed them to come to a stop as they entered a spacious room. Countless books sat on shelves, in piles in corners, andon the long hardwood table in the middle of the room. At the end of a table sat a long slender woman writing something in an, in Izo opinion, stupendous outfit; it brought so many ideas and concepts for new creations to mind.

The woman briefly looked up at Izo, as if his presence was completely expected, before turning back to Haruta and closing he book with a light, innocent smile - it felt like much more than her features should be capable of.

"Hello Haruta", the woman greeted kindly,

"Hey Shakky", Haruta greeted merrily in turn; Izo couldn't help, but stare as the child's previous manner of speech wasn't presence in the slightest: _had he been faking?_ Izo thought with mild irritation. The inattentive, inconsistent kid continued, not noticing the change.

"This is Izo, I met her in a huge wood cart-".

"wagon", Izo interrupted helpfully.

"- _wagon_ , she made gloves, aren't they cool". Haruta finished pointing at the long, comfortable gloves, which surprised Izo, as he wasn't aware that Haruta had been watching him for so long. The woman, Shakky, had raised her eyebrow at something Haruta had said, with a scrutinizing glower, that made Izo want to leave the room.

"Really now, do you suppose you could make more" Shakky chirped, voice changing to suit her mask. She acted well, Izo almost fell for it, and from the expression he'd caught fleeting across the kid's face, he may have too, but quickly ignored it in favour of the prospect of gloves.

"Could you?" Haruta pleaded eagerly.

"Sure, I could go get some things from my-"

"No!", Izo winced at the unexpected shout. Haruta paused, thinking, before her face lit up with a bright red blush; she cleared her throat, seeming to realize she had accidentally dropped her incorrect speech. "W-we have a ton of fabric and clothes stuff, right Shakky", she said trying - and failing - to wipe the flustered expression off her face.

"Why don't you get some, Haruta" Shakky suggested, and Haruta, desperate cool down, didn't question the request or the synthesised tone, instead haphazardly nodding, and rushing out the entrance.

Izo shifted uncomfortably under the stare of the woman.

"she?", Izo realised she was referring to how Haruta had addressed him earlier, becoming extremely flushed. "So what are you exactly: an okama?".

"What?" Izo asked understanding what she meant by that.

A sigh, "why are you wearing a dress?" she simplified crudely.

"Oh", Izo breathed; now that was a question he got asked often, although nobody ever seemed to ever accept his answer; "I...I just feel n-more comfortable".

Izo's simple answer actually seemed to satisfy the woman; she hummed. "A cross dresser then", a stream of smoke leaked out of her mouth, but she didn't seem to be smoking(?).

"What are you doing out here?", Shakky questioned in a much kinder tone, causing Izo to relax a little more.

"I was travelling, I'm a tailor", Izo realized that the two declarations didn't make any sense together, but Shakky seemed to understand completely, giving her a sad look, and so he told her about the storm and how he'd come to be stranded here.

* * *

"No, that's a cross stitch", Izo chided gently as Haruta reattempted his seal, before letting Izo take over. The child had returned with heaps of fabrics, both scraps and silks, old and rare materials Izo only new of through descriptions. As Haruta watched excitedly as Izo made the gloves the display had become a sort of lesson. And so here they were.

" _Ooooowww_ ", Haruta whined, clutching the many aching pinpricks at his fingers, as Izo giggled at his antics. Izo looked at the at the mounds of fabric left, relaxed.

"You know, I can make you a new outfit", Izo offered, causing Haruta to take a look at his clothes, and blush at their state.

"Sure, as long as it's not a dress", Izo stiffened, feeling anger rise; the supposedly ignorant child had assumed he would force his preferred lifestyle on-

Shakky must have caught on to his growing agitation; her statement left his mind blank from raw shock: "Haruta is a girl", she said her eyes shining with mirth. Haruta frowned at that.

"I don't look like a girl, is it my hair?".

"Yes", she said immediately, with a playful smirk, drawing a cute pout from Haruta.

"Sorry, I just assumed", Izo justified weakly after finally processing that piece of information, "it doesn't have to be a dress", he offered.

"Cool, but first do you wanna meet Pops?" Haruta asked with a toothy grin.

* * *

"Thatch, hold still", Izo warned, whacking Thatch with a fan. Izo's new form was very much the same as his old one, only there were bright beautiful feathers hanging off his lower back, like a peakock's.

Izo loved using Thatch as a model when working; he just had the perfect physic (that _and_ he was the only one who would actually let him do this).

" _Ow!_ , then stop jabbing be with pins!" Thatch threw back. Despite his ghost like form the outfit sat perfectly on him.

"IT'S Not thAT BAd , yOU Baby" Haruta nearly screeched, in order to annoy Thatch; he was the only one who still believed her speech was that bad, and she used this annoy him at every opportunity.

" _No_ ", Izo groaned; one of the patches he was going to attach, was stained, and from the dismissive look on Haruta's face he could tell it was her, but he could be mad at her, despite his feathers turning a crimson hue.

Thatch then took the cloth from Izo's hand; "hold on I've been practicing this", a look of pure concentration covered Thatch's features, until finally, the stain fell through the faded clothing, landing on the ground, and the piece regained it's opacity.

Izo's feathers turned a soft pink.

"...Thatch, I think I love you right now".

Haruta's laughter could be heard in every inch of the forest


End file.
